


Into Bronze

by james



Series: Tin Man [2]
Category: Leverage
Genre: Angst, Community: hc_bingo, Cyborgs, Hurt/Comfort, Lost Childhood, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-18
Updated: 2011-06-18
Packaged: 2017-10-20 12:38:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/212850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/james/pseuds/james
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eliot realises that Hardison doesn't know nearly as much about him as Hardison claims.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Into Bronze

Hardison was sitting at his laptop, staring at the screen with an intensity Eliot had long grown used to seeing. What made it slightly more interesting was the way Hardison was laughing and punching the air as he stared so intently. Eliot angled his path to cross behind Hardison so he could take a peek at whatever he was watching.

Now that they were spending more time together, Eliot had been trying to get a better handle on what sort of things Hardison liked. He'd made a list of all the downloaded television shows, movies, and games on Hardison's computers. It hadn't occurred to him until after he'd watched what he hoped was a documentary and not an indication of Hardison's taste in porn, to double check which files Hardison actually accessed, taking note of ones he'd watched multiple times.

He had to be careful about looking over Hardison's shoulder, however, after the time Hardison had been watching something called Babylon 5. Hardison had leapt up and hid the screen with his body, yelling something about season three, and they would start over from the beginning, then he'd made Eliot actually leave the room before moving away from the laptop.

Eliot could easily have looked at the file on his internal display because the password Hardison had given him to access Hardison's computers on the job worked for his video folders off the job as well. But despite Hardison's claims that he'd seen Eliot's files, Eliot wasn't completely convinced that Hardison understood all of what Eliot could do and he didn't like the idea of making himself look like even more of a freak even if -- or especially because -- Hardison would have thought it was cool.

On the other hand, he wasn't really worried about being spoiled for a TV show, so now Eliot simply walked behind Hardison and looked over his shoulder. He stopped in his tracks as he saw the cartoon images, frowning and watching for another minute before he asked, "What the hell is that?"

Hardison didn't even look back. "First season, man! They finally got uploaded. Didn't you watch the Turtles when you were a kid?"

Eliot shook his head, knowing that Hardison wasn't looking, and took a step closer. The cartoon characters were turtles, sort of. Humanoid turtles carrying ninjutsu weaponry; Eliot watched as they ran across the rooftops of a cityscape.

Hardison tapped the pause key and craned his neck, grinning up at Eliot. "You wanna watch? I can put it on the big screen and we'll make popcorn."

"Why are you watching a show about talking turtles?" Eliot asked, knowing the question was probably a stupid one. The reasons Hardison did anything typically defied Eliot's logic. At least he could take comfort in knowing it was because Hardison was a geek, and not because Eliot wasn't human enough to get it.

Hardison narrowed his eyes. "You don't remember the Turtles? Man, you must have watched them -- ninja turtles fighting the bad guys and eating pizza. Seems like that'd be right up your alley."

"Never heard of them." Eliot shook his head.

"Huh." Hardison tilted his head. "I guess they were after your time? What'd you watch, G.I. Joe?"

"What are you talking about?" The question slipped out, but Eliot was starting to have a bad feeling, like maybe he knew where this conversation was going -- and it was a conversation he didn't want to have.

"What cartoons did you watch as a kid?" Hardison asked, speaking slowly as if Eliot had suddenly lost the ability to process English.

Eliot restrained the urge to smack him, just on principle. Reluctantly, he said, "I didn't watch cartoons. They didn't exactly give us a television in the barracks."

Hardison just nodded, rolling his hand as if to say, 'moving on.' "Before that, when you were a kid. Didn't you watch any TV?"

Eliot found himself taking a step backwards, though he had no idea why. It wasn't as though Hardison was a physical threat -- but suddenly he felt as though he needed to be ready to fight his way free. Or run. "I thought you read my file," he said, wishing he hadn't bothered looking over Hardison's shoulder at all. Wishing he knew why he was trying to connect better with the man he was sleeping with, instead of leaving well enough alone.

"I did." Hardison tilted his head, looking confused. "It said you were turned into a cyborg in 1998. That's when the file starts; it doesn't say anything about before that, when you were a kid."

Eliot felt himself tense. "There is no 'before that,' Hardison. I was built in '98. That's all there is."

There was a telling silence for too long; Eliot shifted his gaze away from the lack of comprehension on Hardison's face and looked down at the floor. It was stupid, he should just leave, let Hardison finish watching his cartoon in peace.

But sometimes...it was nice. Sitting and watching some weird television show with Hardison, listening to his lover laugh. Cultural references still passed him by more often than not, but he was getting better at it, and he'd discovered that he even liked some of the things Hardison loved.

"You telling me that you don't remember anything from before they cyborgified you?"

Eliot scowled at the word -- Hardison had taken to using it a lot and Eliot couldn't convince him not to. He hated the way Hardison made it sound so...normal, or unremarkable. Which, he knew, was exactly why Hardison did it. "Because they built me in '98," he said again. "That's when I was made. There isn't anything before that."

Hardison stood up, slowly, staring at him. Eliot took another step back, still feeling the urge to defend himself or run.

Both.

With a tone of wonder, Hardison asked, "You telling me that you don't remember anything from before 1998?"

Eliot just shrugged. As much as he knew about the way he and his brothers had been made, he'd never discovered where the bodies had come from in the first place. He had no idea if he'd volunteered, or they'd pulled dead or dying bodies out of a military hospital, or if they'd grown the cyborgs' bodies completely from scratch.

He'd never asked Doc Martinez about it, and of all the things she'd taught them, it was something she had never volunteered. All Eliot knew was that whoever or whatever he'd been before, the person he was now had begun in 1998.

Hardison was staring at him, eyes growing wide in shock. "You mean that.... 1998, that's all you remember?" His voice was rising in pitch, growing louder as he spoke and Eliot just nodded, warily. Hardison inhaled sharply, then shouted, "I'm sleeping with a twelve year old?"

Eliot's hand curled into a fist, reflexively, but he held himself still -- glancing over as Nate and Sophie walked into the loft, Sophie giving them a curious look and Nate just ignoring the shout they'd walked in on.

Hardison whirled towards them. "I'm having sex with a twelve year old!"

Nate shrugged. "Maybe you shouldn't advertise it." He continued walking towards the kitchen, and Sophie just gave Eliot an uncertain but supportive smile and followed him.

Eliot scowled at Hardison. "You said you read my fucking file."

"I didn't realize it meant you were _twelve._ Oh my god," he said, patting himself on the chest as though checking for signs of a heart attack. "I've corrupted a minor. My nana is going to _kill_ me. She's going to rise from the grave and kill me." He sank slowly back down into his chair, gaping and staring at the frozen image of cartoon turtles on the screen.

Eliot shifted backwards, waiting to see if Hardison was going to snap out of it. But when Hardison just looked up at him with genuine shock -- and apology -- in his eyes, Eliot spun on his heel and ran.

~~~

It didn't take Hardison long to find him; Eliot had simply gone home, straight to his workout room, and begun a series of katas designed to channel the anger -- fear -- out. He didn't miss the irony of going through a martial arts routine very similar to the child's show that had caused this, but he brushed away his thoughts, dampening down the neural processors and letting the physical instincts take over. It was easy -- precisely what he'd been built for, action in combat without too much thinking to distract. It was harder to completely forget why he'd run here -- the image of Hardison's face kept popping up no matter how often Eliot wiped his short term memory clean.

Precisely nineteen minutes after he'd walked through his front door he heard the door opening again, felt Hardison's presence register through the security systems Eliot had wired. He stayed where he was, not really wanting to hurry the confrontation.

When Hardison stepped into the doorway Eliot didn't look over; he finished the kata and stood still, wishing at least his breathing were heavy and ragged so he could use it as an excuse not to speak. But he couldn't, and clearly Hardison wasn't going anywhere so he turned and faced him.

"I called your mom," was the first thing Hardison said, and Eliot was shocked. He didn't speak and Hardison just nodded at Eliot's expression. "I told her I'd screwed up and needed to understand what was going on so I didn't hurt your feelings again. She told me...about how they did it, erasing your memories so they could start over, like wiping the old hard drives so they could install the new operating systems. She said...how it was necessary you guys forget everything, even like how to see or hear, because they were wiring you up with new stuff, enhanced senses and shit, so you wouldn't be confused learning how to function with all the new senses." Hardison paused, looking at Eliot less like he was a freak and more like he had been looking at Eliot the last few weeks. Like he was someone Hardison was fond of, if occasionally confused by.

At least it was mutual.

"I'm not a child," Eliot said, even though he could barely justify the claim. He had twelve years' worth of memories in his head, and most of those were of being a soldier, segregated away from the rest of the world and treated as something other than human.

He knew he was less experienced than even Parker when it came to being normal; his only advantage was the downloads of information they'd packed into their brains -- languages and science and strategy, so intellectually at least he was the adult they'd created him to be.

Hardison walked towards him, moving cautiously like he was afraid Eliot would spook. Eliot tried to relax his stance; he didn't want to hurt Hardison, but as jumpy as he felt like he couldn't be certain his reflexes wouldn't take over.

"I know you're not twelve, not really," Hardison said. "Your mom explained how you guys were created -- instant adults, and how she had to work hard to cram any kind of normal stuff, including a childhood, into you. I wasn't...I wasn't going to break up with you, you know." His face suddenly split into a wide grin. "You're like Kon-El, which means I am sleeping with the clone of Superman."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Eliot snapped, knowing that Hardison's reference was just Hardison, talking about things only another geek would know. But at the moment it only emphasized the differences between them.

He'd seen a Superman movie for the first time only two years ago, and all he knew was that he had no idea how much he didn't know about the guy.

But Hardison just came closer, moving easily but carefully into Eliot's personal space until he was close enough to raise his hand and rest it on Eliot's face. Hardison leaned in, and Eliot stood there and let Hardison kiss him. As apologies went, it was pretty good, and Eliot knew he was ready to forgive the entire afternoon -- including the fact Hardison had Doc Martinez' phone number and was willing to use it.

He narrowed his eyes as Hardison broke the kiss. "How often have you called her?" Eliot demanded.

Hardison grinned, sheepishly. "She told me to remind you that we're going up there for dinner next Saturday," he said, and Eliot _knew_ he hadn't been told about that before. It wasn't like he _could_ forget things without making a deliberate effort, and even then the information was never completely deleted. There was no way he would have deleted information about taking Hardison home for dinner.

He growled and grabbed a fistful of Hardison's shirt, but Hardison clearly understood the lack of danger he was actually in and just smiled. Eliot said, "When were you going to tell me you've been talking to her behind my back?"

Hardison blinked at him innocently. "Seems to me if you called more often, she'd tell you, herself."

Eliot had no reply to that one -- even as Hardison had said the words, the log from his last repair popped up, the final line: CYM, flashing. Call Your Mother, the same line of code that appeared in every log after he saw the doc for repair work.

Eliot dropped his hand, brushing Hardison's shirt back down.

"So are we cool?" Hardison asked, and Eliot nodded. He felt off-kilter, still, and he realized just he had more questions now than before. They seemed to grow exponentially whenever he spent more than a few minutes with Hardison. But the other man was just taking a hold of Eliot's hand and giving it a tug. "I brought my laptop," he said. "We can watch some cartoons and I'll introduce you to some of the finest entertainment ever made."

Eliot started to object, glaring out of habit, but then he stopped himself. It was, in fact, exactly what he wanted and one of the reasons he looked forward to time spent hanging out with Hardison. He'd always tried to hide what he was doing, disguise his confusion and simply absorb everything he could until he was able to understand it.

But he enjoyed it, even when the shows themselves didn't prove to be entertaining. "Are cartoon ninja turtles the finest entertainment?" he asked dubiously.

"You're going to love it," Hardison promised, and he pulled Eliot out of the workout room.

Eliot wasn't convinced he'd like the show, judging by the few moments he'd seen. But he followed Hardison into the living room and watched him gleefully bounce down onto the couch and pat the cushion beside him for Eliot to join him.

"I'm not going to start drinking orange soda and eating gummi frogs," Eliot growled, and Hardison just winked.

"We'll turn you into a real person, yet," Hardison promised. He leaned back and propped his feet on Eliot's coffee table, then pulled Eliot closer, wrapping Eliot's arm over his shoulders as he leaned into Eliot's side.

"Don't count on it," Eliot said, but the heat was gone from his words and he shifted just enough to not lose circulation in his limbs as Hardison pressed himself closer. Then he settled in to watch some cartoons -- and sent a short text message to Mamá, telling her thank you.

~~~

If you prefer, you can [leave a comment on my L.J](http://gilascave.livejournal.com/161352.html?mode=reply)


End file.
